Versus
by Blynneda
Summary: A series of largely unrelated stories that are FUNNY! Please trust me! Unless you don't think they're funny. Then they aren't. **Spock vs. Birthdays**
1. Spock vs Rubik's Cube

VERSUS

_Author's Note:  First off, this requires a bit of explanation.  This is basically my new series, which takes every ridiculous idea involving _Star Trek_ I have, which can't fit into a normal story, and sticks it under one heading.  The gimmick, of course, is that each story falls under the classification "Someone vs. Something."  Yes, there will be crossovers with random other television "universes."  Ah, and your suggestions are definitely welcome!  Give me more ideas, the stranger and more exotic, the better!  I hope to really stretch the bounds of reality here!_

_Note 2:  "Locked Box" will return next week, I absolutely _promise_!  I'm sorry it's taken this long, I really didn't intend it, I'll explain then.  But for now, I hope you enjoy…_

Spock vs. Rubik's Cube 

            It was a particularly dull afternoon for the _Enterprise_.  Empty space outside, nothing to do inside, this was the type of day no one enjoyed, unless it came directly after a big battle.  Foremost among those who didn't enjoy it, of course, was Captain Kirk, who usually didn't even like these days right after a face-to-face death brawl with a Klingon war bird.

            On the bridge, everyone went through the motions, trying to stave off boredom.  Nobody said much, as conversation was generally discouraged while on duty; and besides, what was there to talk about?

            Sulu sat back in his chair after making another minute course correction.  He stretched and yawned, allowing himself a glance around the bridge.  It was no more interesting than the viewscreen he'd been staring at for the past hour, with one exception.  Sulu bit his lip, holding back a smile with effort.

            He sneaked a look over his shoulder again, then waved to Chekov, beside him on navigation.  Chekov was busy pushing buttons at random, keying in new headings and clearing them quickly before they were entered into the computer.

            "Psst!  Chekov!" Sulu whispered.

            Chekov looked up guiltily.

            Sulu poked a thumb back towards the center chair.  Chekov looked, and immediately choked back a snicker.  He whipped forward in his chair and covered his mouth as surreptitiously as possible.

            Kirk's head snapped up.  "Did someone say something?"

            Chekov started shaking with silent laughter.

            "Chekov?  Are you all right?" Kirk asked, frowning.  He sat up in his chair.

            Chekov released a loud snort, which he tried to cover up by coughing.  Meanwhile, Sulu grinned widely at the viewscreen, skillfully placing his back to Kirk.

            "What's wrong with _him_?" Kirk asked of the bridge at large.

            Sulu forced the grin back and slowly twirled around in his chair.  "Chekov?" he began casually, "he's fine, Captain.  Just picked up a cold somewhere."

            Kirk studied Sulu skeptically.  Chekov was still shaking and coughing, but taking deep breaths to slow himself down.  If he wasn't careful, he'd start hyperventilating in a minute.

            Kirk opened his mouth to say something to Sulu, who tried to nonchalantly glance over at Chekov without cracking up himself.

            "Captain," Spock began, still leaning over his station's controls, completely oblivious to the goings-on behind him, "I believe I have detected a previously unknown class 6 comet in this sector."

            Kirk turned his head toward Spock, who was peering into his viewer.  "That's…fascinating, Mr. Spock," he deadpanned.

            "Indeed," Spock replied.

            Several minutes passed, during which Chekov managed to regain control of himself, mostly.  He had started hiccupping, making Sulu snigger every time he heard it.  Kirk's gaze passed from one to the next, still confused.

            He would have spoken to Chekov again, had not two things happened simultaneously.  First, the turbolift doors opened, and second, Spock started talking again.

            "Actually, Captain, I was mistaken," Spock said.

            "Ha!" McCoy cried gleefully, practically leaping out of the turbolift.  "I knew I'd hear that come out of his mouth eventually!"

            Kirk jerked his head around.  "Bones!  What are you doing up here?"

            Spock turned around to face the captain and doctor, but said nothing.

            "I've got something to help keep you awake on this run.  I don't know about you, but Sickbay's about as dead as it could be."  He amended his statement with a grimace, "Well, in a _good_ way, that is."

            "I wasn't asleep," Kirk snapped defensively.  Chekov started shaking again, and Sulu started coughing.

            McCoy glanced over.  "Are you all right there, Sulu?  Maybe you ought to come down to Sickbay."

            Without turning around, Sulu shook his head and waved a hand in the air.  "No, Doctor!  I'm fine!"

            "Well, what have you got?" Kirk asked, deciding to ignore his officers' strange behavior.

            McCoy held up a small cube, covered in multi-colored squares across each surface in a random, confetti pattern.

            Kirk stared at it.  Then he gingerly took it from McCoy and turned it around in his hands.  "Is it…alive?"

            "Captain," Spock said pointedly.

            "Huh?  Oh, just a minute, Spock."

            McCoy rolled his eyes.  "_No_, it's not alive!  It's a Rubik's cube!"

            "A Rubik's…cube?" Kirk repeated.

            "Yes.  You're supposed to turn the sides around," and McCoy took it back to demonstrate, "and match up the colors so it's all solid, one color to a side.  Personally, I think it's impossible."

            "Really?" Kirk said thoughtfully, suddenly intrigued.  He took the cube back and started toying with it, moving the colored pieces around.

            "Captain," Spock repeated.

            "Yes, Spock?" Kirk said absently, focused on the cube.

            "I discovered that the comet I mentioned previously is actually in the library banks; however, some of the data are incorrect.  I am working on a report to correct the misinformation."

            "Fine, Spock.  You do that."  Kirk largely ignored Spock, his attention now fully on the cube.

            "Good luck with it, Jim.  I spent the last hour or two playing with it and I never even got one side right," McCoy said, watching Kirk with interest.

            "Where do you get these things?" Kirk asked in amazement.

            "Oh, one of my nurses picked it up from a physicist or something," McCoy said vaguely with a dismissive wave of the hand.  "I'll be back in a while to check your progress.  Try not to break anything," he warned mysteriously.  Then he left.

*   *   *

            McCoy returned two hours later, ambling onto the bridge with his hands in his pockets.  As soon as he entered, he noticed Kirk in his chair, shoulders hunched up.  McCoy stepped down to his usual position, just behind and to the side of the chair.

            Kirk was poring over the cube with intensity, moving the sides in an apparently random order.  To McCoy's eye, the cube didn't look any closer to being solved than it had when he gave it to Kirk.

            "How's it coming, Jim?"

            Kirk glanced up.  "I think I'm going to have to kill you, Bones."

            "That well?" McCoy replied with a smile.

            Spock turned around in his chair.  "I have completed my report, Captain."

            "Terrific," Kirk said, not bothering to look up.

            "It is actually quite simple, Captain," Spock said.

            "What?"

            "The solution to your problem."

            Kirk finally looked up.  "What, this?" he asked, holding up the cube.

            "Yes.  You see, it is necessary to match the proper colors with the center piece, as well as orient them in their proper positions."

            McCoy turned around to glare at Spock.  "Oh, it's so easy, is it?  I'd like to see _you_ try it."  He grabbed the cube from Kirk's hands and tossed it over to Spock, who caught it deftly.  He turned the cube in his hand, studying it from various angles, then slowly and methodically began shifting the sides around.

            "He'll learn:  it's harder than it looks," McCoy said knowingly.

            "Got that right," Kirk admitted, bending his fingers tenderly.  "I think I stretched a muscle doing that."

            "Oh, are you all right?" McCoy asked with mock concern.

            "Captain," Spock began, still fiddling with the cube, "I have been mapping out the star charts for this region, checking them against the library.  I have found several miscalculations."

            "Someone must have done a sloppy job out here," Kirk commented.

            "Yes," Spock replied.  "Therefore, I recommend we drop to Warp 2 and study this sector more thoroughly."

            Kirk looked aghast.  "But that would mean we'd have to spend another week in this godforsaken region—"

            "Eight point four days," Spock corrected.

            McCoy and Kirk exchanged glances.  "Do you realize," Kirk began slowly, "if I were to prolong this mission, we'd have a mutiny on our hands?"

            Spock looked up and blinked.  "The crew is very loyal to you, Captain."

            "They wouldn't be for long," McCoy said dryly.  "_I'd_ rebel."

            "Well, that's not saying much, is it, Bones?" Kirk murmured.

            "Here you are, Doctor," Spock said, holding out the Rubik's cube.  It was solved, every little square in its correct position.

            McCoy stared, mouth gaping.

            Spock stretched his arm out further, until McCoy, still stunned silent, took the cube from him hesitantly.  "I should return to my duties now," Spock said simply and twisted around again to face his station.

            McCoy studied the cube suspiciously.  "I should have known," he grumbled, and stormed off the bridge.

            Kirk gazed after him longingly as the turbolift doors slid shut.  "Um…I was using that," he mumbled.

*   *   *

            McCoy returned a short time later, with the cube, its pieces totally scrambled once again.  He walked directly over to Spock and stood beside him until Spock looked up.

            "Can I be of assistance, Doctor?"

            "Solve _this_," McCoy said smugly, thrusting the cube in his face.

            Spock took it calmly and evaluated it.  "I cannot.  You took it apart and put the pieces together improperly."

            "_What?_" McCoy exclaimed, taking offense a little too quickly.

            "You have made the cube impossible to solve," Spock said, handing it back.  "I recommend you take it apart again and rearrange the pieces."

            McCoy snatched the cube from Spock and stormed over to Kirk.  "How did he know?" he demanded quietly of Kirk.

            Kirk looked back innocently, eyebrows raised.

            "It was quite simple to determine, Doctor, for several reasons.  First, you would not have returned so confidently if you had not tampered with the cube in some way.  And second, I noticed at least two of the corner pieces are oriented incorrectly."

            Kirk eyed Spock curiously.  "How did you solve that so fast?"

            Spock put on his innocent, human-insulting expression.  "It's nothing more complicated than a spatial problem.  Similar devices were used to teach Vulcan children the fundamentals of three-dimensional mathematics."

            McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Of course!  A _child _could do it!"

_Coming next:  Blynneda vs. Writer's Block!_


	2. McCoy vs The Door

First, I need to apologize for the unreadability (is that a word? It is now!) of the first chapter.  I made the foolish mistake of saving a doc file.  Won't do it again.  Plus, Chapter 1 should be fixed now.

_Second, I know, I know, I should get back to "Locked."  It's written, just not typed, and I only have so much time in the day.  I've just got back to school, and I discovered to my dismay that I actually have STUFF to do!  A lot.  But I just wanted to throw this out as my little "tribute" of sorts to De, whose birthday was yesterday (the 20th), which I thought of last week, then forgot, then was reminded again by Tavia.  So, in all its resplendent glory, here it is:_

McCoy vs. The Door

            It happened all too quickly:  nobody was really quite sure what had just taken place.  The bridge was in total chaos; Scotty would most certainly be in deep trouble.  With _some_one, anyway.

            McCoy had collapsed to the floor, his hands trying to staunch the flow of blood, as his medical expertise had prepared him.  He could have had someone help him, had they not been collapsing themselves—in laughter.

            "I dink I bwoke by _dose_!" McCoy shouted, managing to combine pain, fury, and exasperation all in one short sentence, and still only got the response of pure laughter.

            Finally, Kirk caught his breath and stabbed a finger onto the comm button.  "Kirk to…Sickbay," he gasped.

            "Chapel here."  The response was prompt and efficient.

            "We need a—a _medic_—up on the bridge, Nurse," Kirk said, falling apart again.

            Long pause.  "Is there a…situation on the bridge, Captain?" Nurse Chapel asked hesitantly.

            That drew more laughter.  Kirk coughed, choked, coughed again, and tried to respond.  "A situation?" his voice raised in pitch as he attempted to keep his composure.  He glanced back at McCoy, who was busy glaring at him with blood seeping between his fingers.  "You might call it that."

            "I'll be right up."  Nurse Chapel signed off.

            All had been calm just moments before.  McCoy had come by on his rounds, in which he primarily criticized Kirk for avoiding his physical and tried to start an argument with Spock.

            "I don't know why you call it an _annual_ physical when you get on my case at least every other week about it," Kirk complained.

            "That would be because you keep putting it off every other week," McCoy explained impatiently.  "And then you conveniently manage to get into a brawl with a Klingon and disrupt my whole schedule."

            "It's not _my_ fault Klingons enjoy fighting," Kirk replied haughtily.

            "And _you_, Spock, you're another thing entirely."  McCoy turned on the science officer.

            Spock looked up innocently.  "Me, Doctor?  I have always reported for my examinations in an expedient fashion."

            "Ha!  That's what _you_ think!  How about that time you decided Sparky the Comet was more _fascinating_" he stressed the word heavily "than your health?"

            "What are you referring to?" Spock asked calmly.

            McCoy narrowed his eyes to slits, partly in anger at Spock's audacity, partly in deep thought.  "I think it was…Stardate 2682 or so…"  A light bulb could have illuminated itself above his head.  "I'll go check my records and _prove_ you wrong!"  He turned and darted off.

            And then it happened.  The door malfunctioned.

            This wasn't the first time, of course.  It happened every once in a while.  But it hadn't happened when McCoy was in full charge, a man with a mission:  proving Spock _wrong_.  It hadn't happened…until now, of course.

            There was a thunk, unbelievably loud considering the circumstances, immediately followed by an unearthly howl which lasted several painfully long seconds.  Kirk knew something was wrong.  He hadn't heard the _swoosh_ of the turbolift doors opening.

            He spun around in his chair, ready to leap to McCoy's aid, but somehow the sight of the doctor doddering around, eyes tearing, hands flailing to his busted face, struck Kirk as unaccountably hilarious.  He fell back in his chair.

            Everyone else joined in just because they _had _to.

            McCoy wasn't happy about it.  But then, was he ever _really happy?_

            Kirk finally got up to go and kneel at McCoy's side.  Spock was already there, having responded almost immediately on account of he hadn't wasted valuable time laughing.  "Are you all right, Bones?"

            "Funny ding, actually," McCoy said in a fairly reserved voice, "Afder a while, it just dickles."  Spock reached for McCoy's nose, but he frantically fought him off with one hand.  "Leave me alone!"

            "Aren't you overreacting just a bit, Bones?" Kirk asked, smiling.

            McCoy's hand curled into a fist.  "Dho.  I'm dhot."

            "Doctor," Spock began, his face completely impassive.

            McCoy tightened his fist in Spock's direction.  "If you say _anyding, I'll hit you so hard, your kids'll be born dizzy."  This was the clearest thing that came from his mouth yet._

            "How would one punch affect offspring which I do not—and shall not in the foreseeable future—have?"

            McCoy just moaned.

            Kirk frowned.  "How can you be in so much pain over a little thing like this?  You've been injured worse than a broken nose, and it hasn't bothered you…"

            "Bwould you like do experience it yourself?"  McCoy raised his fist again, covered in blood from his nose.

            Kirk started to laugh again.  The sight of McCoy trying to threaten while curled up on the floor—while intimidating to some degree—simply cracked him up.  "Well, maybe if you didn't go charging into doors, you wouldn't choke hurt yourself."

            "_You go charging indo doors all the dime."_

            "But they open for me.  I'm the captain."

            The turbolift doors opened then, perfectly smoothly, and Nurse Chapel stepped out, medikit in hand.

            "Sure, it works for her!" McCoy growled.

            "Oh!  Doctor!  What happened!  Was there an alien entity on the bridge that slugged you before it escaped?"  Nurse Chapel didn't sound as sincere as she could have.

            "Great!" McCoy muttered, his voice becoming even more distorted by the blood buildup (don't mean to sound disgusting).  "My own zdaff durns againzd be."

            "Let's get you down to Sickbay."  Nurse Chapel gestured, and Spock and Kirk reached to help McCoy to his feet.  They led him the few steps to the lift, where he held back defiantly.

            "Oh, no!  I'm not going near that thing!"  He was anxious and frantic.

            Kirk rolled his eyes.  "Bones—it's a door."

            "A door that's trying to inflict bodily harm on me!  A _malicious door!"_

            Kirk let go of McCoy—who almost fell in the sudden shift of weight, except Spock was there—and strode forward confidently.  The door opened smoothly and efficiently.  McCoy stared.

            "It's safe now," Kirk said, almost mockingly, as the door stayed open.

            McCoy unhappily walked into the lift, eyeing the door frame suspiciously as he passed.

            Kirk stepped back out of the lift, and the doors slid shut, operating under perfectly normal parameters.

            "First it's transporters, now the doors," Kirk grumbled, shaking his head.  "What next, the replicators?  The clipboards?"

*   *   *

            Kirk and Spock visited McCoy later in Sickbay, when they assumed the doctor would be much calmer.  He _was calmer, but not by much._

            McCoy was sitting at his desk, doing paperwork as if the entire day had been boring and routine.  The difference in this picture was the large white bandage covering his nose.  Since the bandage took up the central part of McCoy's face, besides simply looking comically enormous, it unfortunately caused anyone in contact with McCoy to stare blankly at the main focus point.  This infuriated him.  By this time, McCoy had taken to studiously ignoring anyone who tried to talk to him.

            "How is it, Bones?" Kirk asked as he approached, repressing a smile with great effort.  McCoy kept his head down and continued writing.  "Bones?"  Kirk leaned over his desk.

            Without looking up, McCoy muttered grudgingly, "Broken, but it's fixed."  His voice was muffled by the bandage.

            Kirk nodded.  "Good to hear.  Those doors, they must really have it in for you.  Wonder what happened with it, anyway—momentary glitch?"

            "I believe I can explain, Captain," Spock offered.  McCoy finally lifted his head, revealing the extent of the damage—a sickly purplish bruise forming under his eyes, spread outward from the bridge of his nose, partially covered by the bandage.  He looked at Spock expectantly.

            "I consulted Mr. Scott to determine what caused the turbolift door malfunction.  At that particular moment in time, Mr. Scott took the door mechanism off-line to perform a diagnostic.  The diagnostic took approximately two point three-seven seconds, so your collision with the door was simply a matter of chance."

            Kirk stroked his chin thoughtfully.  "So, technically, it wasn't even a malfunction."

            Spock shook his head slightly.  "No.  A simple diagnostic."

            McCoy stared at Spock.  "Tell Scoddy I'm going do kill him," he said evenly.

            Kirk's lips twitched upward at the corners.  "As long as he doesn't die laughing at the sight of you!"

            McCoy slapped a hand on the desk.  "That's it!  I don't want to hear another wisecrack from you!"

            Kirk held his hands up, palms facing outward.  "Fine!  Fine.  I won't say another word about it."   He adopted a casual front.  "Maybe you've been working a little too hard today, Bones.  Care to take a break, join us in the Rec Room?"

            McCoy studied them, his eyes passing from Kirk to Spock and back, as if anticipating a trick.  Then he relented with a sigh and stood up.  "I suppose I could use a break."

            Kirk gestured grandly toward the door.  "Why don't you give it a try?  Prove that they don't have it in for you."

            McCoy scowled, but followed the captain's suggestion.  He walked up to the door warily.  He stopped an inch from the closed door, and quickly backed away, as if it would reach out and bite him.  Everyone was surprised, but only McCoy was frenzied.

            "I did _not plan that!  Honest!"  Kirk was sincere._

            Wild-eyed, McCoy cried, "Forget it!  I'm stayin' right here!"

            Then the door opened ominously.  Everyone stared, until it glided shut again a few seconds later.

            "Another…diagnostic?" Kirk asked.

            "Perhaps.  The probability of McCoy encountering two such doors in one day is quite small, but possible."

            McCoy waved a hand.  "Don't quote odds to me!  I don't care!  You can get killed going for a cup of coffee on this ultramodern, technologically advanced starship."  He sat back down.

            Spock blinked.  "I shall go check with Mr. Scott.  This is…intriguing."  He walked directly toward the door without hesitation.  It opened without hesitation, and Spock calmly left.

            McCoy watched this a mix between fascination and disgust.  "He thinks it's intriguing that I get my nose broken and nearly get attacked again.  The ship is plotting to kill me and he says, 'Fascinating.'"

            "I didn't actually hear him say 'fascinating,'" Kirk corrected.

            "Close enough," McCoy grumbled.

            "So, Bones," Kirk said casually, backing toward the door.  "I guess with your injury and all, you'll have to wait a few days to take care of my physical, huh?"

            "What?"  McCoy was confused for a second.  "Oh, that's right.  Thanks for reminding me.  You just said you were heading for the Rec Room.  That means you have plenty of time for a check-up."  McCoy began to stand again.

            Kirk almost panicked.  "What about Spock?  Weren't you going to check your records about him?" he said quickly.

            McCoy grew thoughtful.  "That's right.  I was."  He pulled a computer screen on a pivoting base within reach, and keyed in a few commands.

            From halfway across the room, Kirk asked, "So, do you at least get to stick it to Spock?"

            McCoy was silent as he scanned Spock's records.  He smacked his hand on the desk.  "Dammit.  He was right all along."

            Kirk headed for the door again.  "Well, that's too bad.  But then, you can't win 'em all, can you?  Well, I should get back to the bridge.  Any minute now, we could be attacked by Rabscallian pirates…"

            McCoy scowled.  "By _who pirates?"_

            The door opened behind Kirk as he approached backwards.  Kirk slipped out with a smile.  "Later, Bones."

            "Get back here!" McCoy shouted.  It was a command empty of threat.

Kirk couldn't help but laugh at the anxious and frustrated look on McCoy's face as the door slid shut in his face, cutting him off from Kirk and his exam.

            Kirk shook his head and walked away.  "Rabscallian.  There's an excuse I'll have to remember the next time he brings up physicals."

I was going to add these at the beginning, but I'll just throw them in now.

_Tavia:  Chemical…equations?  I don't know about that.  Sadly, the only real memory I have of chemistry is when I included my chem teacher in a Gilligan's Island parody comic strip that was very my-school specific in that the roles were played by my teachers.  He was the Professor.  I wrote for my school newspaper, the comic was a one-shot deal, but it's given me my cartoonist beginnings…_

_Sarah:  For some reason, your review doesn't show up on ff.n, but it came to my inbox.  Thanks for the review!  Term papers?  I dunno, I'm on a whole new semester, I've kinda forgotten those.  To give you a clue of how smart I am, I got 3 A's and 1 A- last semester.  Which is pretty good.  If I had written an actual conclusion in one paper, I probably would have had enough points for an A.  Alas.  Never underestimate the importance of conclusions._

_Up next:  I dunno vs. Something else!_


	3. Kirk vs Swine

_Okay, there's not much to this, but it amused me at the time.  Yes, Tavia, I used your idea, so maybe you'll get a kick out of it, if no one else.  The line in question just _had_ to be spoken by Spock, of course.  Oh, and the other idea, about chemistry, I got a story for that, too.  It'll come, eventually.  Trekker-t (I always feel inclined to add "and the MG's" to your name for some reason), a couple of good ideas.  I may use them.  I even have a funny line for the trapped in Sickbay one.  But I'll save it…_

Kirk vs. Swine

            Spock, McCoy, and Kirk were standing in the middle of nowhere.  That is, the middle of a sparsely-vegetated savanna, which was in the middle of nowhere on an unpopulated planet.  Unpopulated by humanoids, that is.

            "What the devil is that?" Kirk asked, gazing across the horizon.  Something, or a large number of somethings, was stirring up a cloud of dust as it slowly, but steadily lumbered in their direction.

            Spock and McCoy turned to look, squinting into the sinking sun.

            "Huh," McCoy commented, not sounding especially concerned or interested.  "Damned if I know.  I don't even know why I'm here."

            "I believe it is a herd of wild pigs, Captain," Spock said, matter-of-factly.

            McCoy did a double take.  "A herd of—?  Spock, are you making things up again?"

            Spock turned to him and quirked an eyebrow.  "I am not, as you suggest, in the habit of concocting information, Doctor."

            "But how would we know the difference?" McCoy muttered.

            "That's enough," Kirk commanded.  "I'd prefer you stop arguing so we can _do_ something about this herd of wild pigs headed directly for us."

            "Well, I can think of one _logical_ solution," McCoy said.

            "What's that, Bones?"

            "Beam us the hell out of here!"

            Kirk shrugged.  "That wouldn't be very adventurous, would it?"

            McCoy frowned.  "Maybe it's just me, but I don't think I'd file getting trampled by a horde of boars under 'Adventure.'"

            Spock eyed the dust cloud, which was moving closer by the second, more warily.  "I would tend to agree with the doctor."

            "See?  He agrees with me!"

            Kirk studied them, then looked back at the pigs. "He agrees with the doctor," he murmured to himself.  "Very well.  I'll call the ship.  You can save yourselves and get out of danger."  Kirk pulled his communicator from the back of his belt.

            McCoy scowled.  "What are you talking about?  You're not planning on _staying_ here, are you?"

            Kirk jutted his chin out in a heroic/stubborn pose.  "Someone needs to stay and protect…er, everyone."  He flipped the communicator open.  "Kirk to _Enterprise_."

            "_Aye, Captain?_" Scott's voice came from the tiny box.

            "Two to beam up.  If you can manage it, bring me up after.  Kirk ou—"

            McCoy stepped forward and grabbed the communicator before Kirk could snap it closed.  "This is McCoy.  Belay that order.  _Three_ to beam up.  I'm enacting my medical authority, as the captain has gone temporarily insane."

            Scott sounded worried.  "_Insane, Doctor?_"

            McCoy scowled at Kirk as the captain tried to rip the communicator back out of his hands.  "Yes, _insane_.  He's decided the day's activities aren't complete until he's wrestled a few wild pigs into submission."

            "_Wild…pigs?_" Scott replied, likely questioning the doctor's sanity at this point.  "_Aye, three to beam up._"

            McCoy smugly closed the communicator and handed it back to Kirk.  "Mission accomplished, eh, Spock?"

            "Actually, our mission was _not_ accomplished, as we beamed down to evaluate—"

            "Do you realize," Kirk interrupted sternly, "that I could have you court-martialed for that little stunt you just pulled?"

            McCoy held his hands out together, fists closed.  "So cuff me, officer."

            Kirk's reply was cut off as the transporter beam locked on to them and brought them back to the _Enterprise._

            "Actually, when I said that there was a herd of wild pigs on the surface, that statement was not precisely accurate," Spock said as they rematerialized in the transporter room.

            Kirk turned to Spock in surprise.  "Really?"

            Spock nodded solemnly.  "Yes.  It was actually a sounder of wild pigs."

            McCoy stared at him.  "What's the difference?"

            Spock inclined his head slightly.  "It is simply a matter of terminology, Doctor."

            McCoy and Kirk glanced and each other, and simultaneously nodded their heads in acknowledgement, as sincere as they allowed themselves to be able a 'matter of terminology.'

            "Also, I would question the use of the term 'pig' in reference to those creatures," Spock continued.

            "Why is that?" Kirk asked hesitantly.

            Spock looked thoughtful.  "Traditionally, pigs do not live in savanna-like terrain, but rather temperate forests."

            "Or farms," Kirk interjected.

            Spock didn't reply.

            "I'm sorry, Spock," McCoy drawled.  "I didn't realize you were such an expert on swine."

            A small smile found its way to Kirk's face.  "I think I know how we can resolve this issue."

            McCoy glanced at him.  "And I didn't realize there was an issue to resolve here."

            The smile broke out into a grin.  "We should beam down and investigate!"  He flexed his arms experimentally, testing a wrestling hold on the air.

            "I would not call myself an expert; I simply have a great deal of information immediately at hand in my mind," Spock said in answer to McCoy's comment.

            "Anybody coming along?  We'll get some great scientific data!" Kirk called with a devious glint in his eyes.

            McCoy looked at his companions with wide, bewildered eyes.  "Lunatics!  I'm serving on a ship full of lunatics!"

_Coming next:  That depends on what I write and how soon!_


	4. Kirk vs Valentine's Day

_Since ffn is supposed to be down next week, I'll put this up early.  A little holiday cheer._

_Sometimes when I try to write something funny, it ends up a little depressing as well.  I don't know why._

Kirk vs. Valentine's Day 

Spock often had trouble understanding human holidays.  Very few seemed to have any logical correlation between the name and the day's method of celebration.  Memorial Day, for example, apparently served the function of reminding people to buy shoes.  Even Federation Day, presumably celebrating the creation of the Federation, only prompted Earth people to roast animal meat over open fires and consume large quantities of food outside during thunderstorms.  That was not logical at all.

Valentine's Day, of course, was no exception.  What made this particular day somewhat more confusing was the dissention among his crewmates as to the meaning.

Kirk had been casually bringing up the topic in conversation for days.  It was quite obvious this was his favorite holiday.  The day was February 14 by the old-style calendar, and Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were sitting at a table in mess hall, eating breakfast.

"If I am to understand correctly," Spock began, "_today_ is Valentine's Day."

"Yes," Kirk replied, with a question at the end of the word.

Spock hesitated a second before continuing.  "Unless I am mistaken, I have not seen any evidence that either of you have acknowledged it."

"Here's one holiday I re_fuse_ to celebrate!" McCoy announced loudly, scowling over his coffee cup.

Kirk smirked at him.  "That's just because you don't have a special someone to celebrate it with, Bones."

"Oh, and where's _your_ special someone, Romeo?"

Spock quirked an eyebrow, but Kirk and McCoy ignored him.

"It's really Valentine's _Night_ that's more important, isn't that right, Doctor?" Kirk explained.  He smiled, a bit smugly, if one were to ask McCoy.

McCoy glared at the captain.  "So, how's your Valentine's _Night_ shaping up?"

Kirk tried to shrug nonchalantly.  "Well, I'm still debating over who I want to spend the evening with."

"With whom, Captain," Spock corrected automatically.

"Oh, you're trying to decide, too?" Kirk responded mildly.

"He's still de_bat_ing," McCoy complained to the air.  Spock glanced at him, as if wondering who he was talking to.  "Well, I know who _I'm_ spending it with.  Scotty!"  He lifted his coffee cup to drink.

Heads turned, not just those of the captain and first officer.  Spock's eyebrow went up again.

"Scotty?" Kirk said thoughtfully.  "Doctor, I never knew!"  
            McCoy put the cup down again and looked around, bewildered at the attention directed toward him.  "What?"  It suddenly dawned on him.  "Oh, _no_!  Scotty and I are opening up a bottle of Scotch and forgoing the whole damned thing.  Romance!" he sputtered, "who needs it?"

"I do," Kirk said.  "For one.  How 'bout you, Spock?"  Kirk raised his eyebrows at the Vulcan expectantly.

Spock looked back impassively.

"No," Kirk concluded with a nod.  "Okay, Bones.  I should get going."  He stood up.  "Have a good night."  And then, with a conspiratorial smile, "I know _I_ will."  Then he left, practically strutting, as cocky as he could be.

McCoy scowled after Kirk.  He turned to Spock.  "You know, there are times when you should be thankful you're a Vulcan."  He stood up and stalked out the door.

Spock picked up his breakfast tray, and those of his crewmates, and took them to the disposal.  He commented to himself, "Feeling gratitude for being what I am is illogical."

*   *   *

The next morning presented a similar scene in mess hall:  Spock, McCoy, and Kirk were eating breakfast together, as was customary, at least for the purposes of this story.

McCoy, despite a hangover, was in a relatively good mood.  Spock was in as good a mood as a Vulcan could be considered to be in.  Kirk was _not _in a good mood.

McCoy grinned at Kirk while shoveling a forkful of scrambled and replicated eggs into his mouth.  "How was your night, Jimmy?" he asked around the eggs.

"I hate Valentine's Day," Kirk muttered.

McCoy's expression was so sickeningly happy, Kirk wanted to wipe it off his face—with his fist.  "See, what'd I tell you?  I had a good time.  How 'bout you, Spock?"

Spock passed his eyes from Kirk to McCoy.  "That depends on what you mean by 'good time.'  If reconfiguring the auxiliary transtator qualifies, then yes, it was most productive."

McCoy blinked.  "Okay.  So I'm the only one who had a good time.  Me and Scotty."

"On the contrary—" Spock began, but was immediately cut off.

"Oh, you and _Scotty_!  Are you best buddies now?  Are you _together_?" Kirk said, tauntingly and loudly.

McCoy stared at him.  "You musta been _really_ unlucky last night," he remarked.

Kirk glared back.  "Being a captain can be intimidating.  To _some _people, anyway," he added pointedly.

McCoy nonchalantly lifted his fork, with which he had just stabbed a large chunk of sausage, and waved it at Kirk.  "That's a surprise."  The sausage went into his mouth.

"In what area were you 'unlucky,' Captain?" Spock asked naively.

McCoy almost choked on his sausage.

Kirk turned his glare on Spock.  "Now, don't _you_ start!"

"Unlucky in _love_, Spock!" McCoy finally spit out.  "Nothing you need to be concerned with."

As if on cue, Nurse Chapel entered mess hall then, with a rose and a box of chocolates in her hands and an ecstatic look on her face.  She came directly over to the men's table.

"I just want to thank you for this," she said to Spock, talking quickly and excitedly.  "I know you wouldn't celebrate this holiday, but it's so sweet that you'd think of me, anyway!"

Spock tried to hide his bewilderment, and would have succeeded if Kirk and McCoy didn't know him so well.  "I believe you are—"

McCoy grabbed Spock's arm so firmly and suddenly the Vulcan stopped talking.  "What he means to say, Christine, is that we've been teaching Spock all about our human holidays, right, Jim?"  Kirk just looked on with amusement, and some confusion.  "You might be surprised how willing a student he is."

Nurse Chapel ignored what was unmistakably a strange display.  "Well, you don't know what it means to me!" she said in conclusion.  She leaned over and kissed Spock on the cheek, then practically skipped away.

Spock straightened stiffly and uncomfortably.

"Well, what was _that_ all about?" Kirk asked with a smile.

McCoy shrugged, "Oh, just a little traditional Valentine's celebration.  Secret admirer and all that."

"Doctor, she believes that I gave her a gift, which I most assuredly did not, and you allowed her to believe that," Spock protested with some consternation.

"Yes, Spock, I did.  And you're not going to say anything to oppose that," McCoy said warningly.

"Playing Matchmaker, are we, Bones?  And I thought you hated Valentine's Day," Kirk said.

McCoy feigned innocence.  "Now, what's this?  Just because _I'm_ a doctor, and she's my nurse, you assume I'm involved somehow."  He huffed, putting on a good show.  "Stereotyping the entire medical profession.  Like we're some kind of cult or something."

"McCoy," Kirk began threateningly.

"Okay, it was me!" the doctor blurted.  "You know that insensitive Vulcan isn't going to do anything."  He jabbed a thumb in Spock's direction.  "And you know how lonely it is in space.  You want me to find you a match as well?" McCoy added wryly.

"That won't be necessary."  Kirk gazed wistfully into space.  "Lonely.  I know what you mean."

"_I_ am not lonely," Spock inserted into the silence.

"Well, you _should_ be," McCoy retorted.  "I'd like to know whose idea this blasted holiday was, anyway," he continued angrily.  "Like I need some kind of depressing reminder of how lonely my life is."

"Got that right," Kirk responded.

"If this holiday apparently causes feelings of extreme loneliness, why is it celebrated?" Spock asked practically.

Kirk and McCoy both turned to stare at Spock, favoring each other with a quick glance.

"That's a good question, Mr. Spock," Kirk finally admitted.

"Sometimes, Spock," McCoy added, "you're very lucky to be a Vulcan."


	5. Chekov vs Chemistry

_Anyone care about my life?  If not, skip ahead, there's a story buried in here somewhere.  Anyway, I've been busy.  Primarily doing stuff that I hate which prevents me from doing stuff I love.  Rather than writing a fun ST story, I agonized over a story that I mostly hated in the process.  It doesn't quite make me want to puke now, but I'm not totally satisfied.  If you'd like to read it anyway, let me know.  I'll email it to you.  It has nothing to do with Spock._

_I was going to write a long boring paragraph here about writing, but I'll leave be.  Just get to the story, Blynneda, if anyone wanted to listen to you ramble on about your dull life, they'd, I don't know, fly to your town and track you down and ask you.  Okay, sorry._

_This is my excuse to (over)use a bunch of technobabble.  If you don't understand it, don't worry.  I don't either.  If any chemical details contained within are incorrect, bite me.  I haven't taken chemistry in years, and not very happily then._

Chekov vs. Chemistry

            The crew of the _Enterprise_ were trying to establish a biological colony on the planet Snorkicle 6 and were encountering numerous problems.  We will discuss only one of them here.

"What's the problem?" Kirk asked, chin resting tiredly in his hand.

            "The problem, Captain, is that the Oscarium is the incorrect isotope for our purposes," Spock explained patiently from his science station perch, despite the fact that this was the fourth time he was patiently explaining it.

            Kirk turned in his chair, already anticipating the rebuttal from the doctor.

            McCoy was right on cue.  "And _I've_ already described—in detail—why it _isn't_ a problem!" he cried from just behind the captain's chair.

            Kirk winced and covered his left ear with his hand.  "Bones, I'm a foot away from you.  And I recall the excruciating detail you're referring to."

            McCoy decided, against everyone else's better judgment—that another run through his plan was in order.  "See, all we need to do is stick a sample under the neutral festucator, change the settings for Oscarium, add a little WlYO…Nurse Chapel could work on it, she's got a background in biochem.  Then we alter the isotope, easy as that—"  
He snapped his fingers to emphasize the simplicity of his proposed experiment.

            "Doctor, I didn't ask for another explanation."  Kirk wiped his hand along his face to massage his temples, as if the chemical debate actually hurt his head.  With McCoy and Spock on either side of it, it probably did.

            "No, but I'm giving it to you.  Don't listen to that overlogical nutjob over there."

            "Doctor, what you are suggesting is technically impossible," Spock argued calmly.

            "You only _say _it's impossible because it's never been done before!"  McCoy threw his hands up in the air.

            Kirk scratched his head.  "Well, that _is_ a valid point."

            "Oh, I see, it's fine when Scotty throws out some ridiculous suggestion that betrays the laws of the universe and more than likely would destroy the entire ship, but when the _doctor_ suggests something, that's a totally different story!"

            Spock raised an eyebrow.  "We have not yet been destroyed."

            McCoy rolled his eyes.  "'Yet.'"

Kirk scowled.  "You mean this plan of yours might destroy the ship?"

            McCoy glared back.  "If you don't approve of it, you'll have more problems from me than a ship exploding."

            Kirk's eyes widened, and he looked at Spock.

            Chekov turned around in his chair, where he had until now been quietly attending to his navigation duties.  "Doctor, you are forgetting the Zherkovian Principle.  A stable isotope of a plasmoid element cannot be coerced into forming an unstable isotope."  [_A/N:  I made this up, so don't go checking your chem book or anything._]

            McCoy turned his glare on the Russian.  "What, are you taking Spock's side, now?"

            Chekov looked innocent.  He obviously had not been in many debates where the stakes were as high as in a McCoy-Spock argument.  "No, Doctor," he replied, in a surprised tone.  "I am simply stating a videly accepted chemical principle."

            "Well, knock it off!  Quoting scientific theory to me like I've never opened a science book in my life," McCoy grumbled to himself.  "I'm a doctor!  They don't hand out medical degrees to chimps!"

            "Despite the obvious disregard your institutions have for medical skill, it would seem logical that non-sentient creatures would not be deemed proficient in highly technical arts," Spock commented dryly.

            Kirk, McCoy, and Chekov stared at Spock for a moment.  "I'm not sure if Spock was complimenting you or insulting you, Bones," Kirk murmured.

            "Based on previous experience, I'll assume the latter," McCoy replied.  "Regardless, I think it should be clear I know what I'm talking about."

            "I _am_ a science officer, Doctor," Chekov said modestly.

            McCoy snapped back, "You're a navigator!  I didn't go through twenty years of med school to be talked down to by a cadet fresh out of the Academy!"

            Chekov was offended.  "I am an ensign, Doctor, _sir_," he said haughtily.

            Kirk twisted his head around to look at McCoy.  "Twenty years?  What, did you flunk?"

            McCoy shrugged.  "It's an exaggeration.  For effect."

            The right side of Kirk's mouth twitched upward.  "What effect were you going for, med school reject?"

            McCoy ground his lips together without a reply.

            Spock decided to add his input.  "Actually, Ensign Chekov is correct."

            Chekov nodded in silent acknowledgement and turned back around in his chair, to readjust the course setting so that the _Enterprise_ did not crash into the star directly in their path.

            "These new kids are getting mouths on them," McCoy commented dryly.

            "They are, aren't they?" Kirk replied noncommittally.

            McCoy chuckled to himself.

            Kirk glanced back.  "Something funny, Doctor?"

            "I was just remembering my chem lab as an undergrad.  You wouldn't believe the problems I had," he said with a smile.

            Kirk cautiously eyed the doctor.  "What sort of problems?"

            McCoy waved a hand dismissively.  "Oh, you name it, we did it—usually wrong!  I could never the damned Bunsen burner lit, and then once when I did, the gas was turned up so high, the flame shot a foot into the air!"  McCoy demonstrated with wide, expressive gestures.  "And then," he started to have trouble speaking through his laughter, "then my lab partner Julia and I—if there was _any_ way to screw up an experiment, we found it!  Not intentionally, of course…Good lord, I can't tell you how many crucibles we broke that year."

            "Really," Kirk said, a bit nervously now.

            "Really!" McCoy agreed.  "Oh, and you know those table tops that are impervious to chemical spills and whatever else you can do to them?"

            "Yes?"

            "Well, they're not," McCoy said, by way of explanation.

            "I see," Kirk said.

            McCoy shook his head, still smiling.  "It's a wonder how I got to be a doctor."

            Kirk shifted in his chair.  "You took the words right out of my mouth."

            McCoy patted the arm of Kirk's chair.  "Don't worry, Jim, I've learned how to use a Bunsen burner since then."

            Kirk didn't appear ameliorated.  "That's…comforting."

            "So, anyway, I should head down to the lab and get things started.  I'll fire up the ol' festucator.  You don't have to approve, because I'm gonna do it anyway."

            Spock looked back at McCoy and Kirk.  "Captain," he said warningly, "the doctor is ignoring certain information that would dramatically alter his experiment."

            "Nonsense, Spock!  Of course I know what I'm doing!" McCoy declared.  "Oscarium is element 312, which means it's a quantum crystal."

            Chekov spun around again.  "Actually, Keptin, Oscarium is element 327, which classifies it as a plasmoid."

            "Do you want to go down to sickbay for a physical, Ensign?" McCoy growled.

            Chekov blinked.  "Right now, sir?"

            Spock raised an eyebrow.  "Doctor, why do you constantly threaten people with medical care?"

            "Hear, hear," Kirk muttered, raising a hand in a mock toast.

            "Incidentally," Spock continued, "Ensign Chekov is correct.  As previously stated."

            "I know the periodic table," Chekov announced proudly.  "It was inwented by the Russians!"

            McCoy finally snapped.  He shouted across the bridge at the navigator, startling everyone, including, perhaps, Spock.  His southern accent was strongly pronounced as he lost control.  "Will ya shut up about the Russian in_went_ion thing?  Guess what, Boris?  The Russians didn't invent nothin'!"

            Kirk had covered both his ears in McCoy's tirade, his arms wrapped around his head.  Chekov was stunned, possibly even a bit frightened.  Spock regarded the doctor coolly, watching him as he panted and sweated.

            "Actually, the periodic table developed on Earth was first organized by Dmitri Ivanovich Mendeleev, of Russian origin."

            Chekov grinned and turned around.

            McCoy stared at Spock for a long time.  Nobody on the bridge spoke.

            Spock raised his eyebrows at McCoy, as if prompting a response.

            McCoy looked at the floor, then stepped up to the level of the turbolift.  "Well," he said casually, "I'll get right on the Oscarium experiment.  Let me know if you plan on dropping out of warp."

            After he left, Kirk commented, "Now, why would he need to know that?"

            Chekov shrugged.  "Obwiously, sir, he knows notheeng about astrophysics, either."

_Okay, so it's a little more Bones vs. Chemistry than anything, but that's okay._

_On the next exciting episode:  Would you like to sit right back and hear a tale?  A tale of a fateful trip?  Stay tuned!_


	6. Spock vs Birthdays

First off, I should mention that we are interrupting our regularly-scheduled broadcast.  Rather than experiencing the exciting face-off between Spock and the Professor, I have something else.  In the past week or so, both Lenny and the Shat had birthdays, so I figured I'd write a semi-relevant story.  Incidentally, for those of you collecting trivia about me, my grandma's birthday is apparently the same day as Shatner's.  As odd as it sounds, this association will probably make me remember both birthdays for years to come.

Oh, yes, the Gilligan's Island story will return!  It may be delayed; it's actually taking me longer than I thought it would.  If it is possible to be both a procrastinator and a perfectionist, at the same time, that's me.

**                                                Spock vs. Birthdays**

            Sometimes, humans can be a real pain.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.  By some means, Captain Kirk had discovered Spock's date of birth; more specifically, that the date in question was fast approaching, and was intent on acknowledging it in a very…_human_ fashion.

            Generally, personal business was not brought up in senior officers' meetings, but Kirk defied tradition in this case.  This did not surprise Spock, as the captain was prone to such rebellious acts; however, the fact that Spock himself was the subject of this variance disturbed him.

            "So, Mr. Spock's birthday is next week, and I thought it would be nice to have a party," Kirk announced to those remaining in the briefing room.  In between the familiar faces of Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Uhura, and McCoy were sprinkled several extras who may or may not show up again.

            The news prompted a pleasant, but muted, response.  Pleasant because, obviously, everyone loves parties, especially when they provide some change in the humdrum routine of deep space exploration.  Muted because, well, this was a _Vulcan_ birthday party.

            McCoy was grinning.  "You wouldn't believe the amount of planning that went into this!  I had to pick up ten cases of Roxovian goose feathers at Starbase 12!"

            Spock favored him with quirked eyebrow and a wary eye.

            There was a murmur at the far end of the table, as the officers recognized the true meaning of this event:  they were invited to a _party_.

            Kirk smiled at Spock's reaction.  "We were going to throw a surprise party, but we thought it might alarm you."

            "…And we wouldn't want to do that!" McCoy added, unable to repress the goofy grin.

            Spock glanced aside at the others officers, who were involved in their own separate conversation about how few parties they had.  "Am I expected to be in attendance at this gathering?"

            McCoy's grin faded.  "You've gotta be kidding me."  He turned to Kirk.  "Is he for real?"

            Spock opened his mouth to answer McCoy, no doubt with an in-depth discussion of reality and perception, but Kirk cut him off.

            "Well, _yes_, Spock.  It's your party."

            "I did not request it," Spock protested bluntly.

            Kirk hesitated and slowly nodded.  "No, you didn't, but the point is that your friends are celebrating this…er, achievement of yours."

            Spock could have been taunting them.  Surely, he knew what _birth_day parties were?  "It is an achievement that I have lived up to this point in time, which happens to correlate with the date of my birth?" he commented dryly.

            Kirk hesitated again.  "Well…yes."

            "Oh, give it up, Spock!" McCoy interrupted impatiently.  "You're the guest of honor, the man of the hour, so you're coming!  Whether you like it or not!"

            "I see," Spock said.

            McCoy and Kirk exchanged satisfied glances.

            "Then it's settled," Kirk said.

            McCoy smiled mischievously.  "I hope you like cake—unless that's not very Vulcan."

            "It is not," Spock replied shortly.

            "Cake?" Kirk said in mock disbelief.  "No one eats cake anymore!  Birthdays are celebrated with plomeek soup!"

*   *   *

            "I think something went wrong with the icing," McCoy said, wincing at the tub of thick, sticky, gelatinous frosting sitting beside the dry cake.  Several people had already attempted to spread the gooey mess onto the cake, to no avail.

            "I'll say," Kirk agreed, lifting the spatula from the container—with some difficulty—and creating an elastic strand of ooze.

            "Who came up with this recipe, anyway?" Sulu asked.

            "It's not fit for human consumption," Chekov added.

            "I think it was Scotty," Uhura said.

            There were murmurs throughout the group.  _Of course, an engineer.  Well, what can you expect?_

            They were so preoccupied by the icing they did not immediately notice Spock's presence among them.  Spock said nothing to attract attention to himself, but attention arrived quickly nonetheless.

            "What are you _wear_ing?" Kirk asked incredulously.

            Spock, apparently already having observed his _faux pas_, retained his dignity with logical grace.  "Unless you are experiencing difficulty with your vision, it should be quite obvious that I am wearing my dress uniform," he said, almost haughtily.

            McCoy released a bark of laughter.  "His dress uniform!" he announced to no one in particular.

            "I suppose it's a bit late, but formal attire was not necessary for this occasion," Kirk said, biting his lip.

            "Thank you, Captain," Spock replied, proving that Vulcans can, indeed, express sarcasm.

            "I hope you didn't have your heart set on cake, Spock, cause that's a bust," McCoy said.

            "I did not have my heart set on anything, Doctor," Spock said, standing stiffly.

            Kirk smiled.  "That's right, Bones, you're forgetting cake isn't a Vulcan way to celebrate."

            McCoy nodded in exaggerated realization.  "Ah, yes.  So, how _do_ Vulcans celebrate birthdays, Spock?"

            "They do not."

            "Ouch," Kirk grimaced.

            And then the small talk and party games commenced.

            The doors burst open, at least as much as sliding doors can burst, and a small party of Klingons with disruptors charged into the room.  Obviously, this small party had nothing to do with the considerably larger party they were at present disrupting, nor are Klingon parties any more enjoyable than Vulcan parties.

            Everyone stopped dead—metaphorically speaking, so far—and stared at the Klingons.

            "We're taking this ship!" one of them, presumably the leader, bellowed.

            Kirk scowled.  "There are only five of you.  We outnumber you in this room alone."       

            "Do you doubt our strength?" the Klingon shouted, aiming the disruptor at Kirk.

            Kirk put his hands up in an reassuring pose.  "No, no!  Of course not!  But I can't help but question precisely _how_ you intend to take control."

            The Klingon didn't even hesitate.  "We have soldiers patrolling every vital section of this ship!"

            Spock interceded.  "This is not a vital part of the ship.  This is a birthday party."

            "A _what_?" the Klingon yelled, annoyed.

            Kirk stepped closer to the table on which the cake sat and added, "Oh, I'm sure you must celebrate _birth_days.  Perhaps with CAKE!"  And he lifted the tub of icing and threw it at the group as hard as he could.  The icing splattered out of the container and into the face of the head Klingon.  He howled in fury, but was unsuccessful in his attempts to wipe the mess off his face.

            Meanwhile, Sulu and Spock eased along the left flank, Chekov and McCoy on the right, to engage the unoccupied Klingons in combat.  Due to the element of surprise, they were able to avoid being immediately killed by disruptor fire, but were still forced to spend the next five minutes struggling with the ferocious warriors in a dramatic battle involving furniture, food, and, in one instance, a boot thrown across the room.

            Spock took care of his foe quickly with a nerve pinch, but the others were not so lucky.  It didn't take long for McCoy and Chekov to be overwhelmed, left on the floor with black eyes and broken bones (no pun intended).  This, of course, is nothing to be concerned with because it's the future and medical technology is really good.

            Finally, with the help of Kirk and some good ol' fashioned fisticuffs, the Klingons were subdued (unconscious), and the _Enterprise_ crew were left standing around trying to figure out what to do with them.

            "Is everyone all right?" Kirk asked.

            "Well, now that you ask, _no_," McCoy called from the floor.

            Kirk walked over to the wall intercom.  "Kirk to Bridge.  Are there any Klingons taking over the ship?"

            There was a long pause.  "Uh…no, sir.  Why do you ask?" came the response, from an young-sounding voice.

            Kirk looked around the room at the disarray.  Tables were overturned, shirts were ripped, disruptor burns scarred the walls.  "Just curious," Kirk replied. 

            "That's a relief!" the voice, cracking with anxiety, responded.

            And then, for no immediately apparent reason, ducts in the ceiling opened and dumped out masses of feathers that whirled and floated in the air before finally resting on every surface in the room.  Everyone, except the security officer hiding under one of the still-upright tables, was covered in feathers.

            Kirk brushed himself off.  "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

            Scotty entered then, with an enormous grin on his face.  "Happy birthday, Mr. Spock!" he called to the Vulcan, who was barely recognizable in his white feathery coating.

            Kirk stared at Scott.  "Was this _your_ doing?"

            Scott nodded happily.  "I rigged the ceiling ducts so we'd have some confetti.  It was supposed to release the feathers right as you sang 'Happy Birthday.'  Did I have the timing right?"

            Kirk continued to stare at Scott.  "No.  Your timing was not exactly right.  Where did you get such a ridiculous idea?"

            Scott took a step back, as if backing off from the entire concept.  "Oh, it weren't _my_ idea!  It was the doctor's!"

            "_Bones_?!" Kirk said, as everyone turned to look at McCoy, who was still lying on the floor, cradling his left arm.

            McCoy looked up at the others.  "Hi," he said.

            "What purpose were _those_ supposed to serve?" Kirk asked.

            "I was thinking ahead!" McCoy protested.

            "Hey, that's a _Klingon_!" Scott exclaimed, looking at the small party within the larger one.  Then he looked around, apparently just noticing the disorder under all the feathers.

            Kirk looked down at them as well.  "Yes.  Five Klingons."

            Everyone was quiet for a moment.

            "Well," McCoy murmured from the floor, "it looks like they've been tarred and feathered!"

*   *   *

            "…And then the Klingons showed up.  No one figured it out until later—apparently some over-excited security officer left the shields down and ignored the alert," Kirk recorded into his log.  It was later, on the bridge, after everything had been taken care of.

            "Well, what do you expect, really, when virtually all our senior officers were at the party?" McCoy grumbled.  His physical wounds were taken care of, but his emotional scars from the attack remained.

            "I don't recall _you_ suggesting we leave a ranking officer on the bridge," Kirk retorted.  "Maybe you could've stayed."

            "And miss a party?" McCoy replied with a grin.

            "So, I'm sorry your party got ruined, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.

            Spock raised an eyebrow.  "I see.  The Klingon incident was _not_ a scheduled activity," he said dryly.

            "You know, Spock, you haven't told us how old you are," McCoy inserted with an expectant grin.

            Spock turned his eyebrow on the doctor.  "It depends entirely upon which planet you are counting from.  For example—"

            McCoy shook his head vigorously.  "Okay, never mind.  I guess I don't need to know."

            They was a pause.

            "If nothing else," Kirk admitted, "you must say this was a memorable birthday."

            Spock nodded.  "Perhaps we should avoid such a gathering at my next birthday."

            "Not a bad idea," Kirk conceded.

            McCoy crossed his arms, wincing at the lingering pain in his left shoulder.  "Amen to that, brother."

_This was perhaps the most action-packed story/episode I've ever written!  Makes you wonder why I don't do it more often, don't it?_

_More exciting stories coming soon!_


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